


This Is How It Happened

by huldrejenta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, H/D Pottermore Fair 2015, M/M, Past Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:45:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4755380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huldrejenta/pseuds/huldrejenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having met each other again in an unconventional setting, Harry and Draco begin an unconventional relationship. Now Harry is faced with a challenge he isn't looking forward to: telling his friends. Some rehearsing might be a good idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is How It Happened

**Author's Note:**

> Dear gracerene, your prompt deserved an epic story way beyond what this little fic provides, but I do hope you enjoy! ♥  
> Many thanks to Gilpin25 for beta reading!
> 
> For [Prompt #12](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1oKxFrF86d2c3FuVesbbG1NW8mLM0kphzpOwJLy225kY/edit).

“So. This is how it happened. Er." He scratches his head with quick and erratic movements, trying to get his tongue to cooperate. "Are you ready? Okay.”

Really, Harry? That's the best you can do?

Just – no. This is way beyond ridiculous. He might be nervous, but that’s hardly an excuse for sounding like an awkward teenager about to tell his closest friends that he’s got a crush on someone, afraid they won't consider that someone to be crush material. 

Harry is never at his best when he’s nervous. Sure, he’s completed plenty of tasks despite having swarms of butterflies in his stomach. He’s been through dangerous missions when he most of all wanted to step aside and throw up in a bin somewhere. Still, when he’s able to master his nerves and control his butterflies there’s less of a chance of landing spectacularly on his arse.

And he wants this to go well.

Really well.

He gives himself a mental shake, an insistent one, and tries again.

“I know this might come as a shock to you.”

Slightly better, perhaps? Except, he has no wish to zoom in on the potential shock factor. No point in steering focus towards how this might be a not altogether welcome surprise. Although, when it comes down to it, he isn’t entirely certain how big of a surprise this is going to be. It wouldn’t be the first time they knew stuff before he did. Hermione has always been that way, of course, but Ron has also grown into a deceptively perceptive man. 

What was it Draco said to him this morning? _If you get stuck, Harry, then close your eyes for a second. Take a deep breath and imagine that first time we met each other again. How it made you feel. That’s what you should tell them._ Draco had sneaked up behind him, wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist and purred into his ear. The silvery voice did to Harry what it always did. It made him lean back and wish for more of this, more of the deep voice with an accent so sharp he could cut himself on it, speaking words so smooth he wanted to sink down into them. It made his mind go to places that had very little to do with solid advice about coming clean to his friends.

But he’s not going to tell them anything about that. Not at all.

Instead, he follows Draco’s suggestion. He closes his eyes for a minute, trying to ignore the Draco inside his head drawling something about how it’s _always_ a good idea to follow his suggestions. Yes, yes, you’re very clever, Draco. Harry pushes the images aside, as much as he’s able to, anyway, and replaces them with memories of how this whole thing started. How they met each other again. How it made him feel. And somehow, the words fall into place.

“You know that feeling of walking around in the rain? Of having been outside for a while? It’s okay, being in the rain. It’s not too cold, and there’s no real rush to find shelter. You could stay where you are for quite some time without much trouble. Things are fine. It’s just that... After a while it’s starting to get to you. Nothing major, there’s still no hurry. But the weather is rather grey, after all, and you find yourself thinking about what it would be like to be inside. In front of a warm, crackling fireplace. With a cup of hot chocolate and some whipped cream.”

A belt loop of his jeans gets stuck for a moment as Harry rises from the chair. He starts pacing the room, past the coffee table and back again. The clock on the mantelpiece starts chiming, but he hardly notices. He’s really getting into this now.

“You keep on walking, your mind more focused on your errand for the day than any worries about the rain. And then, just like that, as you’re minding your own business, you practically stumble onto a charming little café you haven’t noticed before. It seems lovely and comfortable, maybe a little formal on the surface for some people’s taste, but very tempting all the same. On the spur of the moment you decide to go inside. To try one of their coffees, perhaps, even though coffee isn’t usually your thing. And when you sit there, holding a double latte in your hand, sinking into a plush armchair in a corner, you realise that this is just what you needed to step out the rain, even though you would’ve thought you needed something else entirely. It’s not what you were looking for at all, but it’s just right. And you’re so glad you followed the voice that told you to go inside.”

Warmth seeps through Harry, it’s the delightful, inevitable consequence of talking about this, it seems, and he lets himself enjoy the sensation for a second.

“That’s what it felt like to get to know Draco Malfoy again.” 

He comes to a halt by the window, glancing through it without really seeing the flowers and trees planted in an intricate pattern behind it. Draco is quite the gardener, who knew? 

The words are out there now. There’s still a lot that needs to be said, but at this point there’s bound to be some reaction. His friends will say something now, surely. He has no idea what it’s going to be. It’s the strangest thing. He’s known Ron and Hermione for nearly two decades. Nothing can ruin their friendship, Harry is certain of it. They want to see him happy. And yet, he’s not able to imagine what they’re going to say now. Or maybe the problem is that he imagines too much.

_Blimey, Harry, for a second there I thought you were serious. Way to scare a bloke!_

No, no. Ron won’t say that. He’s much more likely to say something like _Really? Are you certain about this? That's mental! Does this mean I have to start being civil to the ferret? Well, as long as you're happy._

Hermione will remain her collected self, no matter what. She’ll be cool about this, Harry is almost convinced, but it’s the _almost_ that gets to him. _When did this happen, Harry?_ To the point, like always. _Where did you meet him again?_

“What a peculiar place to meet.” They’re not going to say that, at least. That was Draco’s line, back when he was still Malfoy. He was still haughty, sardonic Malfoy, equipped with very stylish and very becoming glasses. Harry would be lying if he now claims he’d been happy to see him.

But Malfoy had been right. It was a peculiar place to meet. In a waiting room, all white and clinical. Impersonal. Harry had almost blurted out, “What are you doing here?” in his surprise, but concluded, in time to keep his mouth shut, that it might be a slightly redundant question. The waiting room did after all lead to a divorce solicitor’s office. 

There’d been awkward silence, only interrupted by the sound of someone flipping through a magazine and the constant buzz of flying memos passing through the room. Harry knew from his earlier visits that the memos were colour coded, one colour for seperations, one for divorce, another one for dispute over kids and so on. The solicitor might be an oddball, but apparently a very organized one.

Eventually, Malfoy stopped drumming his fingers against his knee and addressed Harry. 

“So, you and Ginevra are splitting up?”

Harry would’ve been annoyed, but the tone in Malfoy’s voice was one of polite interest instead of the spiteful glee he might’ve expected. Then again, if Malfoy was here in the first place, he probably wasn't in a position to gloat over anyone’s marriage coming to an end. 

“Yes.” There seemed little point in denying it. "I'm just here to sign some papers. Ginny and I have been through most of the process already."

"Same with Astoria and I."

And then awkward silence fell once more.

 _Then what?_ That will be Ron. That will definitely be Ron with the upwards lilt in his voice, leaning forward in his seat. _How did bumping into each other at the solicitor’s office lead to... well, whatever it led to?_

Harry isn’t quite certain how to answer that. He knows how to inform them of the bare facts, of course. He can tell them how the mood changed that day in that office when they both noticed the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_. Lying on the table between them, it proclaimed in bold letters that “Life Is Not Over Even Though Your Marriage Is!”, and then, in smaller, but no less colourful font, “Ten foolproof ways to land yourself a hot date and get back into the game.”

It was more than enough to switch on the snickering.

“What do you think their advice is?” Harry couldn’t stop himself from thinking out loud, momentarily forgetting who he was talking to. “Get yourself a total makeover, buy an expensive new broom, or have a ritual where you burn every photo and letter from your ex?”

Malfoy had laughed then, a lazy laugh that was surprisingly nice. Relaxed. “Possibly. Or maybe some heartfelt advice about how we need to get out of our sweatpants and off the couch, treat ourselves to a manicure and start exercising.”

And that had pretty much been that. They were just two old acquaintances from school, bonding over shared experience and the cover of _Witch Weekly_. Soon, Harry found himself laughing with Malfoy, talking about how their divorce solicitor was the spitting image of Professor Trelawney. "Welcome," Malfoy said, in a ridiculously good imitation, "I'm happy to see you in the physical world at last. I don't parade the fact that I knew your marriage would end, but I knew. Oh yes, my dear, I knew."

He can tell Ron and Hermione that, Harry supposes. He can say stuff like “he asked if I wanted to grab a coffee sometime” and “coffee soon became dinner” and “one date quickly became two, then three.” But he suspects that’s not really what they want to know. He closes his eyes once more, recalling Draco’s words about searching inside for what he wants to say. Slowly, he breathes through his nose and opens his eyes again.

“You know that feeling when you’re in the beginning of something new, maybe at work, maybe it’s a new assignment or project or you’ve got an interesting mission to plan. And you’re in that early phase when you’re throwing ideas around with your co-workers, everyone is buzzing and you’re brimming with suggestions? The air is full of great ideas and of terrible ideas, and you have no way yet of knowing which is which? All you know is that this is exhilarating and fantastic.” He throws his hands in the air with dramatic flair, he’s more dramatic these days than he used to be. He has, after all, learned from the best. “That’s what it felt like to start dating Draco Malfoy.” 

_Well, then. I suppose you’ve decided by now what it was._ Ron will be curious, of course he will, who wouldn’t be? _Was it a great or a terrible idea?_ Harry thinks he only imagines the hopeful tone when Ron says _terrible_. Of course he does.

“It’s the best idea I’ve ever had.” He says it with conviction, and as he says it, he knows how true it is.

Because being with Draco is _right_. Draco supports Harry when he needs support, challenges him when he needs a challenge, and even though Harry doesn’t always agree in the heat of the moment which one he needs, Draco always seems to know. And he’s funny too, hilarious even, he’s warm and passionate, and in the morning, when sleep still hasn’t let him go completely, he’s sweet and soft and pliant.

Somehow, Harry doesn’t think they’ll appreciate that particular piece of information.

 _What about Ginny?_ Hermione again, she'll be asking in her gentle voice. Ron’s head snaps up now, he’ll listen very carefully, Harry is certain of it. _I know you’re still good friends, Harry, but that doesn’t mean she’s thrilled about this development, now, does it?_

Harry smiles. These are safer grounds. He and Draco have talked about this, toasted their ex-wives, even. “Here’s to the best women we’ve ever been married to,” Draco had said once and lifted his glass. “The only ones, too, of course, but don’t let that tiny detail diminish anything. To Astoria and Ginevra!” Harry had banged his glass against Draco’s, quite possibly a little drunk, happily toasting his own and his date’s ex-wives.

Because that part had gone more smoothly than he probably deserved. He and Ginny had split up amicably, certainly, acknowledging that they were better suited as friends, and he knows Draco and Astoria were the same. Still, seeing her ex-husband dating his old rival must be strange, at the very least. Not wanting to be with Harry anymore is no guaranty against a flash of hurt when he moves on with _him_ , is it? 

To Ginny, it seemed to be. She’d hugged him when he told her he’d started seeing someone. She hadn’t said much when he told her who. Asked if he was certain, hugged him again when he told her he was. “He’d better show that he deserves you, Harry.” There might’ve been a shadow in her eyes, passing in a heartbeat. Harry couldn’t tell. If dark thoughts entered her mind, it was no longer his secret to learn.

 _Well. That’s some story, Harry._ His friends will surely need some time now, and then they’ll say... What exactly? Another wave of nervous flutters crawls up his spine.

There’s a muted sound from the hallway, and Harry looks up just in time to see Draco strolling inside. He’s always strolling as if he has no cares in the world.

“Have you finished your rehearsal, Harry?”

“Rehearsing? I’m not rehearsing.”

“Really?”

“Okay, fine.” It’s probably a bad sign how quickly he falters in front of this man. “I’m rehearsing, for all the good it’ll do me. They’re not going to say any of the things I’ve imagined anyway.”

“Never do, do they?” Draco steps up to Harry, who leans closer, it's like a magnet pulling him in.

“Let’s hear it, then." Harry hardly thinks he's the only one who's been rehearsing. "How did Greg and Pansy inside your head take the news?”

“Oh, swimmingly. Swimmingly, indeed.”

Harry takes a reluctant step away, reaching for some Floo powder. “Let’s just get this over with, shall we?” His nerves are somewhat dulled by the look in Draco’s eyes. 

“Tell you what, Harry, if it all goes spectacularly badly, I’ll give you one of my famous head-to-toe body massages when we get back. As a consolation prize.”

“Tell you what, Draco, I’d like one even if it all goes spectacularly well. Which it will.” 

He has almost convinced himself. Even if they'll think he's taken leave of his senses, they'll still be his friends, that much he knows. And soon, he wants everyone to know about him and Draco.

Once again, he closes his eyes and takes a long breath, slow and deep, before stepping into the fireplace. He's as ready as he'll ever be.

"See you soon." Draco's wink and encouraging smile is the last thing Harry sees as he's swept away into the emerald green flames.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](http://hd_fan_fair.livejournal.com/).


End file.
